


Small Business Saturday

by Oddree13



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Florist Bucky Barnes, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Tattoo Artist Steve Rogers, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-05-23 05:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6106045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oddree13/pseuds/Oddree13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is a tattoo artist who lives above his shop. Bucky is a florist who lives above his. I wanted an excuse to make a flower shop AU where the store is called the Hydrangea because puns!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hydrangea

The Hydrangea was the newest edition to a burgeoning little neighborhood in the borough of Brooklyn. The flower shop was nestled among several small businesses that had opened in the area - a few coffee shops, bakeries, an independent bookstore, yoga studio, and even a tattoo parlour. Bucky Barnes had made the decision to open the tiny floral shop a few months ago after he was discharged from the hospital following a tour of duty. The tour, which left him with a missing arm. A few surgeries and an experimental, shiny prosthetic later, the former army sniper decided that being a florist was just as good as any profession because gardening was the only thing that made him calm while recovering in the VA hospital. After his honorable discharge went through, he returned Manhattan, but Bucky found his old stomping grounds to be a little too loud and busy for his liking, and decided instead to move out to Brooklyn where he might find some peace and sunshine. Now every morning, Bucky walked down from the apartment he lived in over the store, pulled back his hair, threw on his apron, always making sure to roll down his sleeves to cover the prosthetic, using gloves to complete the illusion, and prepped the storefront early. And each morning during prep, he hoped to catch a glimpse of the skinny guy who worked at the tattoo parlour across the street.

The first time he had seen the blonde had been a week after he bought the store. He was cleaning up the newly acquired space and the windows were grimy to say the least. He’d been scrubbing for a few minutes and finally a hole of light broke through, and at that instance Bucky had found himself looking at the short adorable blonde, talking to a redhead across the street. And though it had only been a moment, Bucky instantly found himself developing a grade school crush. He told himself that was all it could be though, a crush, but as the weeks went on and he kept finding ways to take a look at him through the window or on his random errands. The brunette hardly left his shop or the apartment he lived in above it, unless it was to get groceries, find coffee, or see his therapist. Lucky for him though, most of those things were in a few block radii of his store, and the blonde kept odd hours like he did.

His crush grew a bit more when one of his employees, Natasha, came in to get her date some flowers a month or so after he opened. The minute the redhead had found out that he had spent some time in Russia and knew the language, she increased her visits in order to get in what she called her “native fix” and from that found out the following - the tattoo parlour, named SHIELD, had two part time tattoo artists, Sam and Peggy, a piercer, Natasha, and the owner Steve who was the blonde Bucky would always see glimpses of from the window. 

He had tried his best to avoid asking direct questions about Steve the first couple of times Natasha stopped by, but he couldn’t stop himself as time went on. His infatuation demanded fuel and Natasha was very forthcoming. Steve had bad allergies and was color blind, which is why he mostly stuck to black ink and was known in the area for his shading and line art. He had gone to art school, where he met Peggy. They dated for a bit, but split before they decided to go into business together. The working relationship being more reliable than the romantic one apparently. Her biggest lament about her boss lately though was his lack of regard for a work/life balance.

“He sleeps above the shop, only to come down and work, and then goes back upstairs unless one of the other stores in the area is having an event, and then he’ll make an appearance to support the local businesses. Oh, and to go see his mother. She’s been in the hospital a lot recently,” she added absently. “But the last date he had was over a year ago! I keep telling him he needs to get laid and while he assures me that he does, I never see a guy or girl walk out of that apartment,” she grumbled, leaning against the counter.

As much as Bucky understood the problem – it was an issue his therapist had mentioned during more than on session – Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle at her concern. “Natasha, the man just wants to run a successful business. Trust me,” he added, while stabbing some irises into an arrangement, “I know the routine. Relationships just aren’t what we are thinking about.”

“Don’t even get me started on you either Barnes. You haven’t left this place either since I first came in, don’t think I haven’t noticed. I swear you and Rogers will be the death of me,” she sighed, before smacking him on the back of the head as she walked out of the shop.

February had just ended so Bucky was busy trying to move all of the roses out of the shop and to make room for the new spring bouquets. Taking down the last of the vases from the front display, Bucky caught a glimpse of Steve across the street talking to Natasha - who was pointing to his store, no doubt telling the blonde that over there too lived another overworked hermit. Not wanting to dwell on the particular truth, Bucky moved what was left of the roses to the fridge and went about grabbing the flowers he needed for his next order being picked up that afternoon.

***

The first time Steve had noticed that someone had occupied the building across the street was after closing one night before heading to Asgard for a tasting. Locking the door, he saw the light on behind the dirt-covered window. Steve peeked in to see someone working on what he assumed was a counter or a table, judging by the sawhorse.

Not wanting to be caught looking into the store, Steve was about to walk away when he saw a shirtless man come out from the back room carrying some wooden planks out to the dumpster. Finding a shirtless carpenter in a space being renovated was not all that exciting, but when he turned to the side Steve could see that one of the man’s arms was made entirely of metal, something the blonde had not expected to see. The tattoo artist lingered a bit longer at the window than was generally polite but eventually moved on when the man started to get closer to the window. ”God, the last thing I need is a beating for being a peeping tom.”

The next time he heard mention of the man was when the shop opened. A flower shop seems like the last thing that a man looking like that would open, Steve thought. He offhandedly dismissed it, thinking the man was probably working with his wife. Though Steve was quickly proven wrong, overhearing Natasha telling Peggy about the owner. 

“So I went in looking for some flowers to take to Clint at the hospital, and I see this large guy working the front, and as he’s helping me I find out he owns the place. Turns out he works there alone, opened up the place after leaving his last job. Great looking addition to the neighborhood, and I’m not just talking about the flowers,” she smirked before walking back to her station to meet with her next client.

Steve’s curiosity only grew but he could never find the nerve to go over and check out the place. Whenever Natasha said she was going over, he kept using his allergies as an excuse. From her visits though he now knew that the shop owner spoke Russian, grew up in Manhattan, and lived above the flower shop, which Natasha grumbled about, saying that they both needed someone in their lives to get them out of their stores. Steve almost mentioned that he wouldn’t mind having the sturdy looking florist in his life, but kept his comment to himself and turned off his hearing aid to deafen the rant Natasha was starting yet again about his lack of a personal life.

The tattoo artist finally met the florist three months after Hydrangea opened its doors. Steve had been late to open the parlour that morning due to a very inconvenient asthma attack. He had woken that morning, not to his alarm, but with the terrifying sensation that he was choking. The rest of the morning had been spent with his inhaler clutched desperately in his trembling hand and his eyes closed as he sat in the living room, trying to remember how to get his lungs to expand again. It had lasted longer than usual and Sam had to come up and get the keys from Steve to open the doors to let himself in.

This was just what Steve needed. With his Ma laid up in the hospital, Steve had been catching maybe a few hours of sleep here and there, trying to spend as much time at the hospital as he could, while still trying to work enough to pay his mother’s empty apartment and hospital bills. The lack of sleep, poor diet, and stress probably culminated in the attack. Eventually though, Steve made it out the door, and headed to the copy shop down a few blocks to pick up an order for the store. On his way back he wasn’t exactly looking where he was going, too focused on looking through the papers and prints to make sure they were all correct. Because of this inattention, Steve didn’t notice the florist standing outside on the sidewalk. He didn’t notice the old style flower cart. And he certainly wasn’t expecting that this was the way that he would literally, run into Bucky Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this for more than a year now and I found myself at a standstill. I figured if I posted the first few chapters weekly I could be motivated to write more if people like it. Comments appreciated!


	2. The Welcome Wagon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky finally meet and Natasha meddles

“Dammit,” Steve growled, snatching the papers from the air. Of course the other person Steve had run into was unmoved while he found himself on his ass, with sheets of paper fluttering around him, causing him to scramble around like an idiot trying to catch them. It took him a few seconds to remember he had run into someone and not something. “I am so sorry,” Steve began to ramble, shoving the colorful papers together before looking up to see the florist.

"Hey, calm down. It's the morning, it happens," Bucky laughed, stacking the papers and handing them back to the other man. "Only caught a glimpse of what you've got there but if these are your pieces, I’d love to compliment you on your work," he grinned, helping Steve up.

Steve was shoving the last of his papers into his folder when he felt a hot blush steadily creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. "Sorry. I'm sick. Still a little out of it," he sighed, “but yeah there are my designs. Needed new prints for the flash- uh, the art in the shop. And some flyers,” he explained, pointing out his work place.

“Oh, you must be Natasha’s boss,” Bucky said, looking to where Steve was pointing, as if he didn’t know who the blonde was.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he smiled. “I’m Steve, Steve Rogers. I own SHIELD across the street,” he explained, extending a hand in greeting. 

Taking the glove off of his flesh hand, Bucky shook Steve’s hand. “Yeah I know. Pleasure to meet you. I’m James I own this place,” he said pointing back at the store.

“I’m actually glad I ran into you. Not literally I mean,” he said with a wince. “I just want to say I’m sorry I didn’t come welcome you to the neighborhood when you opened the place. Things have been a little crazy for me, and I’m usually the welcome wagon, so belatedly, welcome to the neighborhood.”

Bucky shook his head and waved off the apology. “No worries about not coming over sooner, I know how much life gets in the way. Trust me. Besides, Natasha substituted as SHIELD’s rep. The woman will soon buy me out of purple flowers if her boyfriend keeps getting hurt,” he chuckled.

“Well, glad she has made up for my rudeness,” he stated and looked behind James to see the flower cart he was assembling. “Wow, where did you find that gem? Looks like it’ll be a swell addition to the street,” he inquired, wondering if he could get the name of the shop he bought it at out of the florist.

“Oh the cart? I didn’t buy it. I built it. I had seen a lot of these overseas in some of the older cities and thought they had an old world charm about them, so aside from the wheels I ordered online from an antique dealer, I built the rest of it. But I’m glad you like it and that you think it looks authentic enough,” he smiled, running his hand over the grain.

“Geez,” Steve gaped, clearly taken aback. “That is some serious craftsmanship. You’re gonna give Tony a run for his money,” he said, rocking back on his heels.

“Tony?” Bucky asked, clearly not knowing who the blonde was referencing.

“Oh, sorry. Tony Stark runs Iron Works on the block north of us. He makes all these custom bikes and scooters. Basically, if you see anything with two wheels that looks like it could fly off the ground, that would be Tony’s work. Every year he powers a block party with those things, getting the locals to ride them for hours,” he smiled.

“That sounds pretty cool. But I stick mostly to woodwork and the occasional repair. Listen, I’ve got to finish setting up for the day, but I’ll see you around hopefully? Maybe you can give me some insider tips on the area since you seem to be Brooklyn born and bred,” he pointed out, hefting a bucket of tulips into the cart.

Steve tilted his head to the side. “How can you tell I’m from Brooklyn?”

Pointing at Steve’s knuckles he smirked. “Obvious.”

Looking down at his knuckles that each bore a letter of his beloved neighborhood Steve had to laugh. “Fair enough. It was nice meeting you James,” he waved and crossed the street back to his shop.

***  
Walking into SHIELD late that morning, Steve was greeted by the sight of Natasha sitting at the front counter, looking at him like cat that ate the canary.

“I see you finally met James,” she smiled, leaning her chin on a propped fist. “Isn’t he a good looking addition to the street?”

Steve just rolled his eyes. “Nat, you have a boyfriend. Though at the rate he’s going he won’t be on the earth for much longer,” he teased.

“I wasn’t looking for me. I was looking for you. Come on Steve, when was the last time you went out on a date?”

Fixing her with an exasperated gaze Steve sighed. “We are not having this conversation again Nat. My mom is in the hospital. I have to run this place. Dating is the last thing on my mind.”

“Steve, you haven’t had a relationship with anyone but your tattoo gun in almost three years, and your mother has only been in the hospital for six months,” she pointed out, following him into his station.

“There was that date with Tony,” he countered, pulling out his schedule, and checking his appointments for the day.

“Rogers that was a year ago. And you went for coffee. During the day.”

Exasperated, Steve turned his back towards Natasha and made a show of flicking off his hearing aid to tune her out. 

Seeing the argument had once again become another lost cause, Natasha figured it was time to take matters into her own hands and placed an online order for flowers to be delivered when Steve had a convenient gap in his schedule.

***

Bucky was in the middle of arranging some wisteria when he heard his email ping. Walking over he saw the custom order form and saw the request for delivery in the notes, and was about to reply that they didn’t have that capability yet, when he saw the customer’s name.

“The Russian,” he smirked, and figured he’d step out for coffee at that time anyways since his pot burst that morning.

***

At three, Bucky stepped out of his store, coat and gloves on, locked the door behind him, and carried a large vase of birds of paradise to SHIELD across the street.

“Afternoon Natasha, I come bearing your order,” he smiled, and placed the vase down on the counter. “It isn’t your usual request of purple so what’s the occasion?”

Quirking her mouth to the side, she stood and turned the vase around to look at the flowers from all angles. “Just felt like brightening up the place and supporting a local business,” she explained, and walked around the counter, to grab the arrangement and move it to another area.

“I see you met Steve this morning. I hope he was polite.”

“Yeah, I met him. Thought it was odd when I didn’t see him at his usual hour when I opened up the windows this morning.”

“What do you mean you didn’t see him at his usual hour,” with a gleam in her eye.

Bucky suddenly realized how creepy he might sound. “I just mean that he and I always seem to be on the same schedule. He walks down to open up every morning like the clockwork. Hard not to notice him.”

“Really? Steve usually likes to live under the impression that he is invisible,” she laughed.

“Hardly. I mean tiny blonde, wicked ink, walks like he’d push you into a car if you pissed him off, but at the same time screams good Irish Catholic boy that would walk your gran across the street. How could you not notice?”

Natasha’s grin just got wider. “You aren’t wrong about the car. Steve has spent a night or two cooling off in a jail cell. Though I have to say, you spend an awful lot of time staring at my boss.”

Holding up his gloved hands in defense, Bucky explained, trying his best to dodge whatever creeper vibe he might be accidentally giving off. “Habit from my old job. I’m very observant. But anyways, enjoy the flowers, I need to go grab coffee and go back to the shop.”

The redhead was about to try and figure out a way to stall the former army man when she heard Steve and his last client come out from the backrooms.

Throughout the day, Steve tended to get undressed especially when he was working. Having left his button up and coat at his station, he came out in just a white undershirt thin enough to show the complex tattoo on Steve’s back - an abstract Ailanthus tree whose trunk was a series of complex Celtic knots that swirled down his spine and dipped beneath his jeans. 

The blonde was clearly not aware of Bucky’s presence in the storefront, which Bucky was grateful since he found himself unable to stop staring.

The sound of Steve peeling off his black nitrile gloves snapped Bucky out of his gawking.

“Maria, Natasha will take care of the payment and schedule you in for the next session. I know this is taking longer than usual but you can’t help blood,” he smiled. “But soon you won’t have to listen to me talk about aftercare. Leave the wrap on for a few hours. Apply that tattoo goo. Rewrap, and -”

“And keep out of the sun. Use unscented lotion, I got it Steve,” she laughed, and walked over to the counter to pay.

Turning away from his client, Steve finally caught sight of Bucky and smiled at his unexpected presence.

“Hi James, what brings you by?”

Counting his blessings once more that Steve didn’t catch him, Bucky cleared his throat to explain. “Natasha ordered some flowers and had me drop them by the shop. I was just telling her that I needed to head out to get some coffee so I’ll see you,” he said in a rush, needing to get out of there soon before he continued to openly ogle the piece of art that was Steve Rogers.

Natasha had other plans. “Where are you getting coffee?” she chimed in over the counter.

“Not sure,” Bucky replied, “Can you point me in the direction of somewhere good so I don’t have to have what my busted coffee pot is making for one more afternoon?”

Bingo. “Steve can show you to The Nest. It’s my boyfriend Clint’s place that he runs with another one of our artists, Sam. Great place. Good coffee,” she grinned, looking at Steve.

The blonde glared at her. “Natasha, you know I’m really busy today,” he started to say when she cut in.

“No you’re not. You aren’t due for another client until five, which gives you over an hour and a half to take Sergeant Barnes here for a cup of coffee and a slice of pie,” she smiled. “You know make a date of it.”

All Steve managed was an indignant sound that was quickly quieted by a look from the redhead. "You are going to leave this goddamn shop, Steven Grant Rogers. Don't fight me. I will pin you again and don't think I won't just because you almost died this morning."

Ignoring the comment about Steve almost dying this morning Bucky burst out into laughter.

"Remind me to bring you azaleas next time. Both pretty and deadly," he noted. “And I’d be happy to be shown Clint’s place by Steve, but I really can’t chat so just point me in the direction and I’ll grab a cup to go. Besides I’m almost certain I ain’t Steve’s type so I’ll let him off the hook,” he joked, figuring even a tattooed Catholic boy was a Catholic boy nonetheless. “Also please don’t use my rank. I’m not serving anymore,” he added, and walked out of the shop before he could hear Natasha tell Steve that James was most definitely his type.

Steve didn’t bother to hide his annoyance as he went to the back to fume about the way Natasha enjoyed injecting herself into his life.


	3. Asgard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction of another small business owner in the neighborhood

When Bucky moved into his space he didn't know a soul in the neighborhood, but it didn't last long. Soon the army veteran was being greeted by every small business owner in the area - which explained why Steve Rogers was so apologetic when he finally said hello. 

The first of the group that came by his shop was a large Norwegian by the name of Thor and his lovely wife, Jane. They owned a micro-brewery, Asgard, the block behind Bucky’s and made it a point of greeting each new local addition to the area with a six pack of microbrews. 

The day Thor came in Bucky had been in the back working on a large order for the next day when he heard the bell ring. Before he was able to walk out he heard a rather booming voice exclaiming that the shop had the violets that would often grow next to the mystery voice’s home. 

“Can I help you?” Bucky asked walking out from the back, checking his sleeves, and as he turned the corner was suddenly greeted by the sight of a towering blonde who basically looked like a Viking. 

“Greetings!” he boomed clapping Bucky on the back. “I was just telling my wife here that you have here violets similar to the one’s my mother used to plant back home in Trondheim.” Jane, a lot less boisterous than her partner simply held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Jane and this is my husband Thor. We own the brewery the street behind you and wanted to welcome you to the area,” she smiled, and held out the six pack. 

Bucky looked down and saw the six pack and took it from the proffered hand. “Thank you,” he replied with a soft smile. He wasn’t much of a drinker but he hadn’t received a gift in a long time that it was an occasion to be cherished. 

“Can you tell me what the neighborhood is like?” he asked, walking to the counter and putting the beers down. “As you noticed, I just got here and haven't really looked around all that much.” Jane began to describe the area and the owners of all the businesses, with Thor adding in a tidbit here and there. 

“We all know each other,” the blonde added. “It has become a rather curious family of shopkeepers. The next time we have an event I shall be sure to let you know so you may attend,” he grinned broadly. “Only if you want to of course,” Jane added noting Bucky’s hesitance. 

“Thank you really. I’m still getting this place on its feet so I’m not sure when I’ll be able to socialize but I appreciate it,” he said as he walked back over to the violets and pulled out a bunch. “Here, beers for flowers,” he laughed, handing the bundle to Thor. The gigantic blonde looked pleased the exchange and plucked a flower off the bouquet to place it in Jane’s hair. 

“Please come by when you can and let us know what you think of the beer,” Jane suggested with a smile. “We take great pride in it and would love to know what you think.”

Bucky gave her a small salute. “I’ll do just that. Not too big of a drinker so how long will these keep?” 

“About a half a year or more if you want to drink it at peak best,” Thor supplied. 

“Then if I have one a month I think I’ll make my way through it,” he chuckled. “Thanks for stopping by and please enjoy the flowers. I’ll try to stop by some time,” he added and waved them out of the shop.

Taking a few moments, Bucky popped upstairs and put the beers in the fridge figuring he’ll get around to them eventually. He’d seen too many of his friends and colleagues hit the bottle hard when they came back from a tour and Bucky kept making a conscious effort to not go down that route and fall into the bottle to solve his problems. 

Closing the fridge door, he told himself to save it for a special occasion or just after a really good day.


	4. The Nest

The first time Bucky went to the Nest it was just to get a cup of coffee to go, but more and more Bucky found himself there after his shop closed to read or work on business stuff outside of his apartment. It was his therapist’s idea, but Bucky wasn't complaining too much about it now that he'd gotten used to being outside. He still wore long sleeves though and kept this prosthesis covered.

Walking into the nest you could clearly see what it was given the name. The coffee shop had a solitary counter the wrapped along the west side of the shop that had a few espresso machines, stacks of mugs and glasses, with a refrigerated case of baked goods displaying pies and other treats from local chefs. The rest of the space was taken up by an amalgamation of furniture, none of it matching, but gave the space a coordinated homey feeling. Couches, chairs, bookcases, and ottomans were piled in a semi thought out methodology to create tiny pods of seating. Adorning the walls were pieces of art from local artists, some for sale, and some part of the shop’s own collection.

Behind the counter usually stood a blonde man who was drinking out of a coffee pot with the name “Clint” written in sharpie. Each time Bucky walked in he had a new injury, and without the incriminating coffee pot to tell him who the barista was, Bucky could have guessed this was Natasha’s boyfriend due to the injuries alone the first time he stopped by.

Going up to the counter, Bucky eye the coffee peddler carefully and looked at the casted arm and bruises. “What did you do now?” he asked, leaning on the counter.

“Oh Lucky ran into the street and well he didn’t get his by a cab - I did. But it’s only a few bruised ribs and a broken wrist. Nothing new Barnes so don’t get smart,” he waved off, sipping from the pot, but then paused to lean to the side and greet Steve who had walked in after the veteran.

“Afternoon Rogers, Nat told you to get some air?" he asked noting the scowl on Steve's face.

At the question, Bucky turned around to see the tattoo artists standing behind him looking worn.

"Yeah, I may have told someone their tattoo idea was sexist and had to be sent on time out, so here I am," he grumbled.

Bucky couldn't help but smirk, but remembered his last encounter with Steve with Natasha and just thought it better to exit the conversation. Apparently though, Clint didn't think so.

"Rogers do you know Barnes here, he owns the flower shop that just opened across from you, the one that has been keeping Natasha in full supply of purple flowers for my injured ass,” he laughed making the introductions.

Steve glimpsed at the man standing in front of him and realized who it was in line before him.

"Yes, we've met. Nat actually wanted me to bring him by here but I had stuff to do."

Bucky remembered that incident much differently but decided not to correct the skinny blonde. Instead he just smiled and gave a small wave to the artist, and was turning to order when Clint's phone went off.

"Sorry, I need to get that," he apologized and slid across two menus. "Just sit down and I'll send Kate over," he said, and walked off to answer the phone.

Sighing, Bucky went over to sit at the table he had put his stuff down at and found Steve standing to the side of it looking around at the coffeehouse. Bucky followed his line of sight and noticed that there was nowhere else really to sit.

Deciding to be polite, Bucky cleared his throat to get Steve's attention. "Um, the seat across from me is free if you like," he pointed out.

Steve looked over at the seat and slumped his shoulders in tired defeat. "Thanks," he said, and sat down.

"No problem," he shrugged, and opened up his laptop to work on the advertisement he was putting out for a shop assistant.

A few minutes of silence passed until Steve broke it. "Hey, I want to apologize to you James. I probably came off as a jackass the last time we spoke and I'm really not like that, just stressed," he explained, running and hand through his hair.

"No need to apologize, honest," Bucky smiled over his laptop and felt compelled to clarify the whole situation since he really didn't want to be on bad terms with his neighbor.

"Nat clearly just thinks we both work too much and probably just wanted an excuse to get both of us some fresh air. I get that I ain't your type, so you can stop freaking out. Besides I don’t date,” he began and started to pick up on his ramble. “But what I found strange though was that Nat wanted to set us up, which means she clearly has you pegged wrong, which odd is considering how long she says she’s known you. Why don’t you just tell her you aren’t into guys?" he asked. "I mean she kept pushin’ me to meet you, saying we would get along, but I didn’t want to force you into some social situation that I myself am not that good at either. I mean don’t get me wrong, you’re really cute, but I don’t make a habit of barking up the wrong tree.”

There were two things that Steve took away from Bucky's declaration. The florist thought Steve was one, straight and two, cute - and if you asked Steve at that moment he’d say Bucky was 100% incorrect.

“Well first off I’m sorry if I’ve been rude to the point that you feel the need to justify that interaction. It ain’t you, honest. It's the store, my mother, and Nat's constant interference. Kept telling me that it was ridiculous that I hadn’t talked to you yet. She wants me to get into a relationship so badly she’s started co-opting strangers. No offense,” he added with a laugh and was relieved to see that Bucky was just smiling at him.

“But yeah, the second thing I need to correct you on is that you're wrong about me not liking guys. I like guys and girls,” he spilled, wondering what the soldier would take away from that.

"Wow, I didn't see that coming. Well not from you anyways," he shook his head and wished he had a cup of coffee to occupy his hands. "I mean you don't umm, look it, but then again I shouldn’t be judging things like that based on looks."

Steve looked up at that curiously. "What, you don't think I get beaten enough for being short, skinny, and outspoken?"

"No that's not it. You've just got this whole boy next door thing about you and the last time I watched Happy Days boys like you go for sweet parish girls, in appropriate length skirts. Besides you scream Irish Catholic," he explained, unable to fight off a blush from embarrassment.

"Boy next door?" Steve asked, unable to stymy the harsh laughter the escaped his mouth. "God no. I mean, you're right about the Irish Catholic, and the parish girls are nice to me just like they have'ta' be, but they don't look twice outside of the house of God. I mean, what girl wants some guy she might roll over and crush in her sleep, right? Ink, or no, nothin' fixes that,” he said gesturing to the visible art. 

"Really? And here I thought I was fighting a war to make sure girls kept their options open," he joked, feeling the conversation grow easier at each exchange of wit. "I've slept with guys way smaller than you so those girls have no excuse next time you ask 'em out."

“Nope, I’ve stopped trying that route. And really Happy Days, James? You should try a different show for me, because I definitely go for guys, in jeans that fit really, really well or for girls that look like librarians but can kick your ass if you look at them wrong.”

"No wonder you live in this area," he teased, nudging Steve with his foot under the table. "The street is full of eye candy and I bet half of them walk right into your shop."

Steve laughed, nudging back and shaking his head. "I get some good looking guys and girls, sure, but either they're already attached, or not looking for a chronically ill, scrawny tattoo artist who is in desperate need of a haircut, and whose longest running relationship is with his sketch pad and tattoo gun,” he mused as their server finally came around to take their orders. Both men ordered coffee and peanut butter pie, and were left once more to their own devices. 

Picking up his train of thought, Bucky continued. “But you said chronically ill and Natasha said you had a near death experience the last time I saw you, but you look fine to me Steve. Yeah a little thin, but I figured it's just your build."

Flashing a rueful smile Steve stated skinny was the least of his worries. “Believe me, I don’t want to bore you and put you off of the impending coffee and pie with the list of shit that is wrong with me.”

“It won’t bore me, come on, tell me,” he pleaded, giving Steve exaggerated puppydog eyes that made the blonde concede, knowing that he himself had his own list of issues.

“Fine, fine. I’m anaemic asthmatic, with a heart murmur that likes to make itself known. I have astigmatism, which wouldn’t be so bad except that is coupled with trianoptic color blindness, and depending on the season I have to take so much medication I’m surprised I don’t rattle. Lucky for me the scoliosis I had as a kid was corrected, so there we go,” he finished, sounding like he’d memorized this speech to ward off potential dates. 

Yet, despite the diatribe, Bucky found himself smirking. “I think you forgot one,” he stated and moved his still gloved hand to touch the side of Steve’s ear where the hearing aid was attached.

Steve shivered at the touch, finding his mouth dry and taking a moment to respond. “Right. Ear infection that left me fully deaf for a year, and now just partially with the assistance of a hearing aid,” he finished, but amused that Bucky didn’t give him a look of pity and instead reminded him he wasn’t done. “I’ve had the damn thing in for so long that I forget sometimes.”

“That I can relate to,” he mused, looking down at the table.

“What do you mean by that?”

Instead of explaining Bucky simply lifted his gloved left hand a little bit and banged it on the table enough that it made clanging noise.

“That’s right,” Steve remembered from all those months ago. “One of your arms is metal, and judging from the rank Natasha referred to you as, I’m guessing you lost it in military service?”

Bucky just nodded. “How did you know? I’m always in long sleeves and gloves.”

“Months ago when you moved in, I passed by the shop and saw the light on, and took a look inside. I didn’t see you but then you came outside to throw some stuff away and you were shirtless,” he muttered into his cup, expecting James to think he was a creepy peeping tom.

“Ah well yes. Lost the arm in service, so I keep forgetting the feeling of something there or not there. Sometimes I think I still have my arm and then I see metal and get reminded. It almost becomes a part of you and you forget that it’s different,” he sympathized.

"And it makes you wonder why other people are staring," Steve agreed. "All that does is make you conscious of it for the next three hours," he added enthusiastically, happy to have someone that could relate to him other than Clint.

"Yeah and then you keep touching it, only bringing more attention to it!" Bucky threw in, grinning at the common problem they both shared.

Easing off the conversation of their mutual insecurities, Steve noticed that their food had arrived without them noticing, but was curious at singular piece of pie. 

“I guess they ran out?” he shrugged, and dug his fork into the dessert. 

“How long did you serve for?”

“Thirteen years. Enlisted at seventeen to get out of Manhattan,” he replied, shoving a piece of pie into his mouth.

“Man I’ve heard of people doing some drastic things to escape the city but that is pretty bad there,” he laughed, letting his Brooklyn pride through. “So how does one go from the army to gardening?”

“Well you lose an arm,” he smirked as if it should have been the obvious leap of deduction.

Upping the ante of sarcasm Steve countered. “Oh you see I wasn’t aware that losing a limb granted you with the powers of mother earth!”

“Oh yeah, it does. They even list it in the pamphlet they give you as an amputee,” he snarked, but changed his tone to actually explain. "The veterans’ hospital had a lot of alternative therapies for recovery, and they had a garden. Only thing I took to. Kept at it, used my excursion time to take some courses on flower arranging, and I used the money I saved, in addition to the money they gave me for agreeing to being a robot, and moved back around here to open up the shop.”

“From what I see in the window it seems like you have a knack for it. Too bad it took this to find it,” Steve mumbled, his sympathy earnest. “Wish I could get a closer look at the arrangements though but pollen and I don’t mix.”

“I’ll have to make you a bouquet of some of my blooms that don’t have too much pollen. They smell great and won’t make you sneeze,” he smiled over his coffee.

“Thanks for the offer but if you start bringing me flowers, Natasha will never stop trying to push us together.”

“And we wouldn’t want that,” Bucky chuckled, spending the next few minutes exchanging conversation with Steve before Clint dropped by the table. 

“Afternoon gentleman, sorry about the lack of pie. Last piece of that kind but it seems like you split it. James, if you don’t mind, I just need to ask Steve something,” he stated, and turned to Steve with a grin and began to sign. 

/Coffee date going well?/

/Not you too! Did she put you up to this?/

/Perhaps. But you know peanut butter pie is in high demand. Besides, you need to get out there again./

/Not cool Barton. I don’t have time for this and GI Joe said he doesn’t date./

/GI Joe? Really Rogers? For that I’m sending over another piece of pie, on one plate again./ 

Growling, Steve broke away from his conversation to find Bucky staring at the two of them in amusement.

“Oh please don’t let me interrupt. I have to head out anyways. Early morning tomorrow. It was nice chatting Steve, and thanks for the great coffee as always Clint,” he nodded and picked up his stuff to head out the door.


	5. Iron Works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Tony Stark

The effort Bucky had put into the flower cart had paid off – it was an unexpected hit in the neighborhood. The old world charm that Bucky was going for allowed the cart to become a form of advertisement for the shop, and it gave him the idea to use it for deliveries, now that he had a shop assistant – Teddy. 

Following their coffee, Steve and him had actually talked a bit more, mostly about business, and the blonde gave him the information of an area artist who specialized in hand painted signage. He had the artist paint the side of the cart with his business information in a way that still kept its elegance but still did its job of letting people know where to go. 

Every afternoon Teddy took the deliveries out on the flower cart. Bucky had found a bike to attach to the cart off craigslist and it didn’t match the cart exactly but with the limited budget he had it did the trick. The sight of the cart with a beat up bike though, caught the eye of someone in particular in the neighborhood – Tony Stark. 

Tony ran Iron Works, a custom bike shop two blocks down from Bucky’s store. Everyday he’d see the beautiful cart ride in front of his store, and every day he’d cringe at what was attached to it. 

Finally, when what in his mind was an eye sore got to be too much, Tony made his way to the Hydrangea with a mission. Part of that mission was to take a blowtorch to the poor excuse for a bike. 

The bell over the door rung to let Bucky know he had to take care of a customer and he walked to the front, his mouth open to greet the customer, but was silenced by the sight of a blowtorch held in the man’s hand. 

“Umm...I’m not sure if I need to say this sir but plants are rather flammable,” he stated. 

“Oh I’m aware, but your foliage is safe with me. Not I brought Jubilee along,” he said, lifting the blowtorch in a bit of explanation, “because the bike attacked to that piece of art cart has got to go. I don’t think I can take another week of seeing that pathetic excuse for transportation peddling around my streets. So I have a deal for you,” he began but was cut off by Bucky.  
“You must be Tony,” he smirked. 

“How did you know?” 

“Steve and Natasha gave me a play by play of the neighborhood,” he explained. 

“Ah well, I do have a reputation which proceeds me, but I assure you I earned it well. So about my deal. I build you something that matches the cart and you let me burn that hunk of aluminum attached to it in return,” he grinned. 

“That’s it? No payment? No advertising?” 

“Trust me, allowing me to melt down that thing will be payment enough, but if you really want something more I’ll give you some cards. But there isn’t a person this side of the bridge that wouldn’t recognize my work or the logo that goes on the bike. But don’t worry, it’s small. Won’t wreck the vibe that cart has going for it,” he assured as he walked over and plunked down the blowtorch on Bucky’s counter. 

As soon as the blowtorch was set, Tony pulled up from his pockets of preliminary designs. “Right so I did some homework regarding the aesthetic design of bikes from about the 1930s and 1940s to come up with this. All modern tech but the look will be classic. We can fuss about the color once I’m done but this is what I’m looking to make.”

Looking over the design, Bucky was impressed and asked a few questions about the workings and after an hour and two customer interruptions Bucky agreed. 

“You can’t melt it down though until it’s done. I need it for deliveries.”

“I figured which is why I’m starting this tonight because I can’t stand that thing. Also send me your boy, Teddy, right? I want his measurements for a custom seat since I assume he’ll be around a bit,” he grinned. 

“Not a problem,” Bucky said with a nod and shook Tony’s hand. And just as the inventor had stormed in, he stormed out, frantically moving onto his next errand. 

***

Two weeks later, Bucky watched as Tony torched his old bike in the presence of a new beauty attached to the flower cart. 

“Bucky, I’m not going to complain that thing is gone. It was too short and it killed my ass,” Teddy admitted as he watched the blaze with his boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update for a longer one with more plot next time.


	6. Sarah Rogers

For months after their coffee talk, Steve and Bucky grew friendlier, occasionally having a prolonged sidewalk conversation or help each other’s businesses with a recommendation or an extra hand. Natasha though considered this to be too little progress for two people who she thought complimented each other nicely, but couldn’t do much else to push it because of Steve’s mother.

Sarah Rogers had taken a turn for the worst and it made Steve spend every second of free time he had at the hospital, taking his work there with him most nights. He only stopped into the parlour when he had a client and came in to do their consultation and ink, before going straight back to the hospital.

It had been so bad that even Bucky noticed the change in routine. He would see either Sam or Natasha opening in the morning and he would see Steve on the street less and less. Then for two weeks all together he didn’t even see a hint of the blonde and wondered what had happened.

***

Steve had fallen asleep at his station again, having not even made it upstairs. It really wasn’t a surprise as it was habit now because it was just about every night for the past week where he woke with his bones screaming and his head pounding to light spilling in from the front windows. With a groan, he slipped his hearing aid in, adjusted the massive sweater that hung limp around his thin shoulders and began to prep the store to open haphazardly.

Finally, at about a quarter to nine, he pushed the front door open, letting the cool air rush over him, ruffling the short hair on one side of his head. The only other movement on the street was James, who Steve hadn’t seen in weeks. Exhausted, Steve raised a hand in greeting, and wandered back inside. Socializing was just one more thing he didn’t think he wanted to deal with today more than he had to. But when he heard the door open a few minutes later, and the sounds of Natasha coming in grumbling that Steve had opened up again, the blonde slipped out the back door and walked across the street into Hydrangea.

"Uh hey," he murmured, coming up behind James once inside. Before Bucky could even reply in greeting, Steve was getting in his explanation. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I’m sure Nat has told you that things have been a little crazy but everything is getting sorted out. Good to see that the store is doing well from what I hear,” he offered as a semi-apology for his absence.

Bucky was honestly just happy to see Steve out and about because he had honestly been worried. "Hey Steve, and please don’t sweat it. I know how much life gets in the way, trust me. But thanks for stopping by, though Natasha, as always, has been keeping up SHIELD’s appearances. Did you need something today or just wandering in?”

Before he could answer, the bell at the front of the shop rang as the door swung open with force. Natasha walked in looking like a woman with a mission, which caused Steve to hide behind the former soldier. 

"Hi James! Just saw the big boss man in the window and was coming to yell at him for showing up to work today," her smiled dripping with angry sarcasm and stepped around the brunette to glare at the blonde, her arms folded across her chest.

"You, Steve Grant Rogers, were not supposed to come in today. The service is in two hours," she sighed.

“Service?” Bucky asked looking between the two friends.

At Natasha’s tone, Steve arms crossed his chest, mirroring the redheads’ and glared.

"I am perfectly aware of the time my mother is being put in the ground thank you," he spat. "I don't need you and everyone else at the fucking shop reminding me and awing every damn time I walk past. Maybe I came by to get her flowers," he countered, looking icy.

The two friends stared at each other unflinchingly, Steve's chest heaving angrily, Natasha's gaze unyielding.

"His mother's burial." She spoke softly over the blonde's shoulder in response to Bucky. "He's been sleeping and working nonstop in the stupid shop because he doesn't want to think about it. We keep telling him it's unhealthy and he won't' listen," she explained to the florist as if Steve wasn’t beside them both, causing the blonde to grind his teeth together before turning angrily from the scene to begin to look through the store. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't actually bought any flowers. He was a horrible son.

Giving Natasha a look that said he'd handle it, Bucky followed Steve further into the store to help him get something, remembering his own mother's funeral ages ago. Steve at least had a shop and an apartment to go back to - Bucky had wound up in a group home.

Clearing his throat behind Steve he asked, "What does she like? I mean I have most of my stuff out here, but there is more in the back that I haven't unpacked yet so give me some ideas and I'll put together somethin' real nice," he explained, giving Steve enough distance to stomp around and let off steam.

All he wanted to do was ignore Natasha, ignore James, and ignore the world, but after a few minutes he thought better of ignoring the man who could help him add some grace to his mother’s death.

"We never had enough money for flowers," he mumbled, fingers curling gently around the soft petals of an orchid. "But whenever we would go for a walk, when both of us were feeling up to it, she would always stop at the really colorful ones. She said...she said they looked like something I might draw, with the pens she saved up for me for Christmas." The words felt choked in his throat, the stories felt forced, felt wrong because he knew she wasn't there to make more.

Gathering his voice back up he continued when he noticed that the florist wasn’t moving to say anything. That he was just standing there, listening patiently.

"I was always a little useless at this. I mean, I never knew the names, just, I don't know. What are you supposed to get, to get buried in a grave? No one is even going to see them."

"You'll see them. She'll probably see 'em. And I think people get some kind of release at leaving flowers, it’s their way of saying they ain't gonna forget you. You know like you see that flowers and you always think of them, which is why I never let people get roses for funerals, you see them too often,” he explained softly.

“I think I have just the thing for you though,” he said, and led Steve to his back workroom to pull out a box he hadn’t opened. Grabbing the box cutter, he sliced open the cardboard to pull out a colorful and varied bouquet. "I just got these in from a buddy of mine in Ireland. I had wanted to work with them before spring really came in but I can get another bunch. They’re Irish wildflowers. Known to be as pretty as the girls that pick them. Take them for you Ma," he smiled softly, and handed the flowers to Steve.

Steve's heart lurched, tears burning in his eyes as he gathered the flowers in his hands. "They're perfect," he whispered brokenly. Somehow, somehow they looked like her, looked like his Ma when she laughed.

"Thank you." Steve breathed, wet eyes rising toward James’. "Thank you. For the flowers, for not saying you're fucking sorry, just thank you."

"My pleasure Steve. Honest. Now go, and if Natasha kicks you out of the shop after the service, come here. I got some beers from the Asgard that are coolin' upstairs. I know what it's like to live for work, it's why I live above the shop, so I ain't gonna tell you to stop. I just know that I'd want to avoid the angry Russian," he smiled, and clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder.

Smiling faintly, Steve's gaze dropped to the flowers once more. "Thanks James. I'll more than likely see you later because I think she’s on a warpath. I swear to god, it’s my shop, I should be allowed to go there after I bury my mother, but I know she’ll lock me out." With another faint smile, Steve was out the door and hurrying back to his apartment to change before Peggy and her husband arrived for the service. It wasn't until he was tightening his tie that he realized he hadn't paid for the flowers.

***

Five o'clock rolled around and Bucky had locked the front door to the shop but left the light on. Bringing out the broom to sweep, he wanted to stick to the front of the shop doing clean up instead of the back doing arrangements in case Steve happened to drop by. It wasn't that he had his hopes up, but he knew what a beer and some relaxation could do for someone experiencing this much stress.

It was around 7:30 by the time Steve was standing outside Hydrangea, tie hanging open around his neck, hair disheveled and eyes red and swollen. Hands shaking, he knocked against the door, head resting on the frame. It felt like he had been hollowed out, as if none of what had happened felt real, like it was some kind of dream. Some kind of awful, sick dream.

Hearing the knock, Bucky walked over to the door, and seeing Steve, opened the door silently, and led him inside. Taking a second to lock the door behind him and turn off the shop lights, Bucky directed Steve up the stairs and to his couch. Without a word, Bucky grabbed the beers, put them on the coffee table, passed one to Steve, and flicked on the TV.

It took four beers, most consumed by Steve, and three episodes of Dog Cops to go by before Steve managed to say anything.

"Thanks," he managed to croak out, his voice hoarse from crying, and moved his eyes back to the spot on the wall just to the left of the screen.

When the end credits rolled on the fourth episode, Steve managed to pull his suit jacket from around his shoulders, leaving him in a button up and suspenders. "I never paid you," he mumbled, reaching for the beer only to find it empty, then remembering he had made the same motion several times before to find it empty. "For the flowers. I never paid you."

Handing him over another beer, Bucky shrugged. "Wasn't going to take payment." Getting up, Bucky grabbed the jacket and hung it over a chair, before calling out for some Chinese takeaway.

"You don't have to eat. I'm ordering for me, and if you want you can have some. Whatever is leftover is lunch," he stated, sitting back down next to Steve.

"I ain't takin it for free,” he grumbled, seeing the gesture as pity. “How much do I owe you?," he asked and without waiting for an answer, pulled out the few bills he had in his wallet and tossed them on the table, draining the new beer quickly.

It wasn’t until he placed the bottle back down did Steve realize how tipsy he was. He hung his head and covered his face with a hand before mumbling. “Don' even know if I'm hungry. Is it supposed to feel like this? Like…like nothing?"

"Yeah, it feels like nothing. Then you'll think you're getting better and somethin'll set it off again. A reminder. Some mornings you wake and think the world is still the same, but it ain't. Eventually though, you know that they'd hit you for actin' like this, and that's when you really start to feel again," he swallowed.

Despite himself, Steve smiled, leaning heavily against the other man as he let himself sink into the couch cushions this time.

"She would whoop my ass if she knew I was drinking this much. She knows I can't hold nothin," he sighed. "I don't know why I feel like this. It wasn't like it was sudden. She's been wasting away for years I just...I never thought it was going to happen. Have you ever lost someone? You sound like you’re speaking from experience."

"Mom died. Dad left with my sister," he stated flatly, and couldn't help himself when he wrapped his arm around Steve who was leaning against him. "And you feel like that because you love your mother Steve, no shame in that."

Steve nodded. He wasn't going to say he was sorry. He wasn't going to be one of those. He hated those. Tired, body aching and eyes still burning, Steve buried deep into James' side, feeling himself relax into his warmth. "Thank you,” he mumbled thickly, drifting slowly into sleep, unaware of how tired he actually was.

"Any time Steve," he promised, and let the blonde curl into him to finally fall asleep.

Eventually the delivery was dropped off and Bucky carefully got up and positioned Steve on the couch, draping a blanket over him. He went down to get the food, came back up, portioned himself a dish and watched TV on low volume into the night, afraid to go to sleep with Steve here.

***

Steve woke around three that morning with his breath rattling weakly in his chest and his hands shaking. Gasping for lungfuls of air that wouldn't come, Steve scrambled to find his inhaler in his pocket.

Hearing Steve begin to wheeze and feeling the smaller man scramble, Bucky stood up and looked in the jacket pockets and feeling the inhaler, tossed it to Steve and went to put on the kettle on to make some tea. Once the water heated, Bucky placed the mug in front of Steve, and sat down beside him. "All good?" he asked wearily, clearly exhausted from lack of sleep.

Sucking down two puffs from the inhaler, Steve gratefully took a breath and a few more before pulling the mug between his hands. "Yeah. Thanks," he mumbled into the mug, and looked over at Bucky and noticed the bags under his eyes. "Have you been up this whole time? I mean, I didn't mean to fall asleep. I can go. I didn't mean to intrude I just, uh, I'll head over to the shop," he rambled, standing, mug still in hand, searching for his coat.

Standing, Bucky grasped Steve's shoulders, and placed him back on the couch. "You need this more than me. I don't sleep a lot, and I didn't want to risk a nightmare with you here. You ain't intruding punk, so just sit back down and drink your damn tea Rogers," he yawned, and went to pour himself a mug.

A growl built low in Steve's chest at being manhandled back toward the couch, especially on a day like this. His mug came down hard on the table as he stubbornly refused to drink.

"I can handle nightmares jerk!” he spat. “I have near death experiences every other night so, I'd say nightmares are a breeze," he hissed, leaning tiredly into the cushions. He sat there for a moment before he began to pull the suspenders from his shoulders and roll up his sleeves. The damn suit was unbelievably uncomfortable, and with each inch of skin exposed as the sleeves rose, it became increasingly clear there was not a single patch that was not covered in ink.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Bucky sighed. "Steve the last person who handled one of my nightmares, wound up with a broken arm, so forgive me for being cautious.”

"Yeah, well. I'm sure I could handle it anyway, James. I can handle a few punches and I've broken every damn bone there is to break, so forgive me if I'm not intimidated," he snapped back.

“I’m not trying to intimidate you, just trying to explain it from my side,” he started and looked down to see that Steve was clearly in no mood for and explanation. “Fine. Do you at least want a change of clothes?" he asked, looking at Steve continue to fiddle with the sleeves and suspenders, clearly not backing down from the blonde too much despite the aggressive attitude.

Frowning, the small blonde gave the other man a once over and snorted. "As nice an offer as that is, I'm pretty sure I won't fit anything you've got."

Refusing to argue with him he just walked over to his dresser and handed him some gym shorts and a sweater. "Just put this on, Steve. It's three in the morning, it's cold, and we're both tired. Let's just go to sleep. I’ll take the couch you take my bed.” 

“That makes no sense. I’m half your size. I’ll take the couch and you have the bed, or we split the bed. Either way you’re on the bed.”

Bucky opened his mouth to counter but noticed it would be an exercise in futility. “Fine, we’ll split it, but if I do have a nightmare, just roll out of bed, go to the other side of the room, and call my name until I snap out of it," he sighed, and walked to the back of the apartment where his bed was. 

Sitting on the side of the bed exhausted, he waited until Steve was inside his room to point out the bathroom. “Bathroom is through there, you can change and freshen up. And don’t argue about the clothes. Guys like you always look cute you have all that baggy clothes on," he yawned clearly too tired to filter himself. "Just change, rest, and when the sun rises, we'll get breakfast."

Steve glanced down at the clothes and found himself smiling. "Really, cute? Is that why you watch me every time I open up the store and run errands?” he teased, equally loopy, before slipping inside the bathroom.

When he emerged, the shorts were hanging past his knees and the sweater was so large it slunk off one heavily inked shoulder as he walked to the bed where Bucky was laying already under the covers. As Steve got closer, Bucky had to do his best to not stare at the exposed skin revealing the canvas that was Steve Rogers.

"So...where are ya takin’ me for breakfast?"

"I figured, the Nest. I don’t know anywhere else. I don't really leave the block much," he explained, keeping his eyes on ceiling above him.

“The Nest is fine. Nat will probably like to see me out and it will give her an excuse to spy on me,” he yawned and noticed Bucky wasn’t looking at him. “Oh come on, I can’t look that bad that you can’t look at me!”

"No, not bad, just trying to, um, not to look," and began to fail at miserably as he caught Steve’s eyes as he stood over the bed and immediately found himself staring at the details creeping out from his shoulder. "Sorry, tired. Ignore me.”

"Trying not to look? Why, Sergeant Barnes, do you want to look?" Steve snorted and sank back onto the bed. “I was teasing earlier. I didn't think a guy like you would actually give someone like me the time of day."

"Christ what is it with you and her and the rank,” he mumbled. “And no I don't want to look, I mean I do, but I can't," he muttered, trying to think of something he had to do so he could get up from the bed and escape this conversation that his brain was clearly unable to stop from coming out. 

At that comment Steve grinned. He wanted to look. Holy shit, James Barnes wanted to look. Later on Steve would blame it on sleep deprivation when he moved inches away from Bucky’s face and asked, “Why can't you look?"

Turning to answer Bucky came face to face with Steve and replied cautiously. "Because I don't date. I don't go out. I go from here to the grocery to therapy and back. I can't look at you from more than a street away," he swallowed, "because I can't do more than that. Sorry," he replied.

Without asking, Steve closed the distance between them and brushed a gentle kiss against Bucky’s lips, and Christ were they soft. "You don't have to date me, but if you want to look you can," he said as he slowly pulled away. “Goodnight James,” he murmured, and curled up under the blankets, falling asleep immediately.


	7. The Morning After

The next morning Bucky hoped that Steve had been rather drunk and delirious with grief to forget the conversation they’d had before falling asleep in the same bed. Mainly he hoped that Steve would forget the kiss.

James Barnes would never admit that the first night Steve stayed over was his first night without a nightmare, and would instead point to the alcohol and the odd night of sleep he’d tried to get anyways.

Waking up was a feat as Steve hadn't wanted to get up, but Bucky shoved him until he at least told him where his keys were so Bucky could get him something to wear that wasn't a suit.

Bundling up in his hoodie, Bucky stepped out the back door and walked down the steps that let out at the side of the store. Crossing the street, he let himself into SHIELD, and going to what he assumed was Steve’s room and rummaged around until he found something for his hungover friend to wear. 

As he exited the shop and locked the door, he turned around and was face to face with Natasha.

“Care to explain to me why you seem to be breaking into our shop only to steal some clothing and boxers that would be too small for you,” she asked, tilting her head.

“They’re for Steve. He only has his suit and he isn’t going out in my pajamas that he slept in, so I came to get him something to change into,” he explained, which made the redhead cock her brow and grin. 

“You mean to tell me the right now Steve Rogers is in your apartment, in your clothing, where he spent the night, presumably after getting hammered?”

Bucky just nodded but soon realized how it sounded. “Wait! Nothing happened. He was just sad, so I watched him. Never touched him. Just got him to sleep and vent is all!”

“Did he do either of those things?”

“Yeah. He slept and talked a bit. Also yelled at me, but I assume that’s just his charming personality. But I’m going to take him to breakfast at the Nest in about an hour if you want to meet us there,” he offered. 

“Sounds good. I was just coming to check on things and leave a sign on the door. I cancelled all of Steve’s appointments for the next couple of days so he can take some personal time - which he’ll hate me for but see if I care.”

“I think it’s a good idea for a day or two, but coming from someone who uses work as a coping mechanism, you can’t take it away for too long or he’ll be lost.”

Simply nodding, Natasha walked to the door and tacked up the sign. “I’ll see you at breakfast. Thanks for taking care of him. I think he needed someone who was removed from the situation and could just let him be,” she sighed, and headed down the street to the cafe. 

Walking back, Bucky quietly entered his apartment to still find Steve sprawled in his bed. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It had been a long time since he had anyone in his bed, and while it wasn’t because of sex, it was just nice imagery to dwell on. 

Deciding to leave Steve asleep for a little bit longer, Bucky made his way into the shower and freshened up. Looking himself over in the mirror he figured he could go another day or two without shaving, since he was still getting used to a razor blade so close to his face. 

Laying out a clean set of towels, Bucky walked back into his room with just a towel around his waist and tried again to wake up Steve. 

“Rogers,” he whispered, shoving the blonde a bit, “set out a towel for you in the bathroom and got you a change of clothes. Rinse off and let’s go get food in you,” he reminded him, and went about changing, not caring too much about privacy since barrack life takes that away from you rather quickly. 

Rolling over to finally move his head from under the pillow, Steve propped himself up on his elbows and caught a glimpse of his hosts bare bottom as he slid up his boxers. “I guess modesty goes out the window during basic?” he laughed, having appreciated the sight. 

“Yeah, not enough time to worry about that,” he chortled. 

“Right well I’ll just shower and then we’ll go?” he asked as he grabbed his clothing from the edge of the bed. “Thanks, by the way. For the clothes and for the company.”

“Don’t mention it. It was a rough day and you needed some companionable silence.”

"And something to drink," he scoffed, swinging his legs to the side of the bed, and suddenly feeling the thud in his temples more prominently. "Do you have an aspirin or something you can leave out for me?" he groaned.

"Sure thing. That and a tall glass of water. By the way, I ran into Natasha downstairs. She'll be meeting us for breakfast. She's a bit worried but happy to hear that you were able to vent a bit last night," he added, walking out of the room and leaving Steve alone to freshen up. 

*** 

Steve didn’t want to think about breakfast. It wasn’t because his stomach wouldn’t keep it down, its more that he didn’t want to have to deal with people who would pity or coddle him. Yes, his mother died, but he was an adult and he wanted to grieve in his own way. 

Standing under the spray, he leaned his head against the wall and hated himself momentarily for drinking so much. He tried to remember that night before and caught pieces. Him arriving, sitting in silence, throwing money at Bucky’s table, falling asleep, waking up with an asthma attack, yelling, and then...kissing? No that couldn’t be right. James didn’t seem like the kind of man who would take advantage of a drunk person, but when he closed his eyes again, Steve realized he was the kind of person that with a lot of liquid courage did some very bold things. 

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. He chuckled, until his sides hurt, and he lifted a hand to his side to trace over the word “breathe” he has tattooed there, and then remembered why he was here in the first place. He quieted and turned the spray off, toweling himself off and changing into the clothes Bucky had left for him. 

Coming out of the bathroom he found the aspirin and water waiting there for him. The man who owned this apartment was far too kind, and Steve needed to figure out a way to repay him. But he’d have to think of that another time. 

*** 

As Steve was in the shower, Bucky cleaned up the mess from last night and tidied up in general so that in a bit when Steve walked out he was ready to go. 

“Did you see the aspirin?”

“Yes, thank you. And thank you for getting the clothes and for everything you did.”

“It was nothing. Don’t fuss over it,” he smiled, trying to shrug it off. “Besides you won’t be thanking me once Natasha gets to you,” he laughed, and led Steve out the side, so he wouldn’t have to walk through the flower shop and get sneezy. 

Going down the street, it was certainly a brisk morning and it woke both men up. Luckily the Nest wasn’t too far down the road and soon they were inside, sitting in a booth, and being served coffee without needing to ask for it. 

“It’s all on the house today,” Katie began to say with a kind smile and was soon met by protests from Steve. “Rogers, shut up for once and take it,” she retorted curtly and walked off. 

“You don’t do favors I gather?” Bucky asked, sipping at the dark, warm liquid. 

“I give them. I don’t take them. And if I do, they are repaid. With interest,” Steve declared firmly. 

“Any reason why?” 

“I don’t need people’s pity or charity,” he murmured, not looking at the brunette. 

“And what if they aren’t doing it from pity or charity? What if they are just helping you because they’re your friend and they care about you? I mean, I’m not expecting any repayment for last night, and I hope you don’t think that you owe me,” he pointed out, and seeing the tightening around Steve’s eyes and mouth, gaped. 

“You seriously were going to do something weren’t you?” Bucky said in an accusatory tone. “Steve, your mother died. I’m not holding it over your head as some favor you owe me. I was just doing what any normal person would do for a friend.”

“Do you often let friends sleep in your bed with you?” Steve shot back, hating this conversation, and going on the defensive. 

Bucky looked at him part stunned and part embarrassed. “You wouldn’t let me sleep on the couch, and you needed to sleep. So no, I don’t often share my bed with my friends but I had to get you to rest,” he explained. 

“You could have just let me go home,” he pointed out. 

“You were in no state to go home Steve. Yeah you live across the street, but you were drunk and depressed. I wouldn’t be a good person if I let you wander off like that.”

“I wouldn’t have wandered off!” he growled, feeling his hackles rise. “I’m not some kid you have to take care of James. And I know you don’t look at me like a kid from what happened last night.”

Bucky hadn’t been punched in the gut in a long time but the feeling was same whether it was a physical or verbal jab. “I apologize for whatever impression I gave you last night,” he swallowed, his voice lowering. “It wasn’t right of me to say what I did, and I should have left and moved to the couch when you...well when that happened,” he continued, feeling like some pervert for making a simple comment. 

Standing up, he began to excuse himself but couldn’t look at Steve. “I am sorry if I gave you the impression that my intentions were anything but friendly. And I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable,” he coughed, clearing his throat. “Enjoy your breakfast and I’ll text Natasha to pick your things up later,” he said, and grabbed his bag. 

“Where are you going?” Steve asked, looking up at Bucky who was suddenly standing quite rigid, eyes forward, that for the first time he could really see the soldier in him. As he listened he realized suddenly that he might have been too defensive and implied something about Bucky when all he was trying to do was get him to stop asking questions. 

“I have to open the shop. Teddy has deliveries to make and I need to let him inside,” he said, as an excuse, plausible though shaky. 

“And you weren’t going to do this before?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow. 

“Steve, just enjoy your breakfast and company with your friends. I need to go,” he said and didn’t stay to hear Steve’s protests. 

On the way out he passed Natasha, who was saying hello, but she was another person he didn’t stop to listen to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be fluffy I swear, but then Steve started being Steve...sorry!


	8. You Idiot

Looking at Bucky rush out, Natasha turned and looked at Steve with a scowl.

“What happened?” she asked as she walked over.

Steve had the decency to look sheepish. “I may have implied that he shared a bed with me last night because he just wanted to sleep with me, and not because he was being kind,” he murmured.

“You idiot.”

“I know. I know.”

“No I don’t think you do.”

“Sorry. Just Katie came by and told me breakfast was free, and I got mad. Then he asked about why I don’t like favors, and that led to him telling me he didn’t expect anything from me for last night, and then – “

“And then you implied that he expected sex in repayment, fantastic job Steve Rogers. You’ve managed to insult the only decent man to look your way in two years.”

“He’s not the only man,” he began and was again cut off.

“He is the only who has looked at you and you looked back. I know you like him, so why are you pushing him away.”

“I’m not pushing him away Nat, he’s just...” and for once Steve wasn’t really able to come up with an excuse or explanation. Putting his head on the table, he could hear his mother reprimanding him now.

“It’s been a long few weeks. Can I just eat, and go hide in bed?” he asked, exhausted.

“Fine. Your appointments have been cancelled for the next three days,” she said and was surprised when Steve didn’t gripe.

The pair ate in silence, joined eventually by Clint and Sam, who took the cues from Natasha and didn’t talk much. Eventually, they all left, and Steve headed straight to his apartment.

Before he walked inside though, he looked across the street and saw that the shop was open, the cart out, and Teddy milling about in the store front. He made a step to go over and apologize, but thought better of it and walked inside to go to sleep.

***

After lunch, once Bucky sent Teddy on his deliveries, Bucky text Natasha.

> _Do you mind stopping by today or tomorrow? I have Steve’s stuff for him. JB_

He placed the phone down and was about to go back to an arrangement when it buzzed right away.

> _Why don’t you just bring it over? NR_
> 
> _I’m working and the shop is closed. You have a key. JB_
> 
> _There’s a back door to Steve’s like there is to yours. Just go up and knock. NR_
> 
> _Look, Steve is an idiot and says a lot of nonsense when he’s under stress. NR_
> 
> _I’ll just leave it at the door. JB_

Bucky put all of Steve’s stuff in a bag and once the store was closed he walked across the street and dropped it off by the backdoor with a light knock. He walked away before anyone could get to the door, and walking across the street he didn’t bother to look back.

With the shop closed and sorted for the morning, Bucky made his way upstairs. There he looked and saw some traces of the night before and felt a combination of guilt and emptiness. Walking over to his bed, he stripped it of the sheets and put them to wash. He was about to get out another set and make the bed, but didn’t care enough to do it at that moment and went to the couch.

After eating some leftover, he laid down on the couch, turned on the TV and fell asleep to the white noise of people talking, knowing that come morning his back would regret sleeping on this particular surface.

***

In the early evening, Steve had heard a knock at his door and couldn’t find in him the energy or will to get up. When he didn’t hear another knock he let the sound slip from his mind and he went back to sleep.

It was the middle of the night when he woke up, half dazed, and remembered the knock at the door. He padded over and looked out the peep hole, and upon seeing a package, opened the door.

Bringing it inside, he set it on a table and opened it. Immediately he recognized his clothes and felt horrible. The conversation from earlier replayed in his head and then the incidents from the night before did too, and Steve could have hit himself at that moment.

Shrugging on a jacket, he made to walk out, but stopped to look himself over in the mirror. Realizing he’d look like a bulldozer hit him no matter what he did, he sighed and opened the door.

Making his way across the street, he could see a light still on in Bucky’s window and wondered if the man was still awake, and hoped so, that way knocking on the door in the middle of the night wouldn’t be too bad.

Taking a deep breath, Steve knocked, and heard noise in the apartment, which told him Bucky was indeed awake. No one came to the door however, and steeling himself, Steve knocked on the door again.

A few minutes went by and Bucky opened the door and leaned against it with his shoulder. “Yes?” he asked, looking down at Steve.

Steve was about to respond to the curt greeting when he noticed that Bucky was holding his flesh hand oddly, and noticed it was bleeding.

“What happened?” he asked, trying to push his way in to help. Bucky, however blocked the door.

“Nothing to concern yourself with Steve,” he said with a layer of exhaustion.

“But your bleeding,” he pointed out, with some surprise.

“Yes, it happens. Nightmare,” he shrugged. Bucky had been asleep on the couch, his plate and glass from his dinner still on the coffee table. When he woke flailing, he hit the coffee table with his flesh hand and broke the plate with the force of his smack.

“Let me come in and help you,” he half demanded, and tried once more to walk inside, and was once more blocked.

“No need. I have it all handled. Is there something you needed? It’s two in the morning,” he pointed out.

“I got my clothes back. I wanted to say thank you and talk about what happened earlier.”

“And you couldn’t wait until morning?” 

“I saw that your light was on and I was awake...” he mumbled, but his attention was diverted when he saw that the blood from Bucky’s hand was dripping down his arm and onto the threshold.

“Well I’m glad you got your clothing back,” Bucky inserted between the pause, “and there is no need to talk about what happened this morning. It’s clear you have certain thoughts about my behavior, ones that you made very clear.”

“But I wanted to explain myself,” he began but was cut off.

“I’m sorry if I made it seem that my gestures were anything more than that of a friend. I won’t make that mistake again,” he swallowed, feeling himself getting weary.

“What do you mean by that?” Steve asked, noting the tone in his voice. He didn’t think he wanted to know what was going through Bucky’s mind despite having asked.

“I mean that it’s clear that we are neighbors and nothing more. Which is fine. I shouldn’t be more than that.”

“James, please, I didn’t mean what I sa-”

“Goodnight Steve. I need to take care of this. Get home safe,” he mumbled lifting his hand in demonstration, and shut the door in Steve’s face.

Steve stood in front of the shut door staring at it. He really was an idiot. He hadn’t realized he could feel emptier than he had when he buried his mother, but he did. The combination of the two losses ate at Steve in a way he didn’t think possible, and when he realized he’d been standing there for far too long, he turned around in went home.

***

Inside the apartment, Bucky stood over the sink his bathroom, washing the blood from his hand. Turning off the water he stared down at the wounded hand and back up at himself. He didn’t see himself though. He saw the man who had come back from war, who was convinced he couldn’t connect to people, who hid his arm, afraid of being seen as something other than a man. Seeing that reflection looking back at him, Bucky punched the mirror with his already injured hand and let the pain of the glass shards in his flesh bring him back down to earth.

Finally unable to see himself in the mirror he was able to clean and bandage himself properly before walking out and going back to sleep.

The next morning, when Bucky got ready for work, he wore long sleeves and once he was down in the shop, he put on gloves.


	9. A Look At The Community Calendar

It had been a few months since the incident with Steve, and without consciously doing it, Bucky had reverted back to his old habits. He woke, he worked, he only left for a doctor’s appointment or the groceries, and fixed his apartment up little by little. 

Not many people were close to Bucky so there wasn’t really anyone around to notice the change. Teddy did however, and across the street, Natasha was fretting about Steve’s reversion to reclusiveness. It was hard for either of them to make headway on their boss’ melancholy. For Teddy he didn’t think it was his place. He was years younger than Bucky after all, and it wasn’t as if he seemed outwardly depressed, he just didn’t go out as much anymore and had Teddy do more of the PR for the store than he previously had. 

Natasha, on the other hand, found that whenever she tried to pry into Steve he just retreated farther away. At first she had chalked it up to the mourning his mother’s death, but after a month went by she would catch Steve looking out the window of their shop more than usual, and remembered that he hadn’t seen James around since that morning. She had tried asking Steve what had happened soon after, but he just dismissed it. When she tried going over to the shop, Teddy was always the one at the counter and if she put in a delivery, Teddy was the one to drop it off. 

It was as if each man had become a ghost of sorts, haunting their own space and route, never crossing paths with the outside world if they could help it. 

***

Fall was always a great time in the borough. The menus changed with the leaves, and the cool air, fragrant with an excessive amount of various squash-flavored treats, brought about a cozy presence leading up to winter. 

It was also around this time that all the businesses got together for a fall harvest street fair. It started Friday night and went all the way to Sunday afternoon. Stores kept their doors open and had special events. Vendors and artisans set out booths with various crafts and food. All of the small businesses in their neighborhood took it as an opportunity to showcase their wares and build up community. 

In charge of this festival were the local representative for the chamber of commerce – Phil Coulson and Maria Hill. The pair went around from store to store signing up shops and gathering the information necessary to put in the flyers and brochures. Convincing the employees as SHIELD was never a problem, as they had participated in the Harvest Festival for years now, though Phil found it odd that Natasha was doing the coordinating rather than Steve, but having heard around that his mother had passed, assumed that was the culprit. 

Hydrangea, however, was a new business, so when Phil and Maria walked in a were greeted by a rather young blonde haired boy they were hoping that he was not the owner. “Hi, is the manager or owner around?” Phil asked cautiously. 

Teddy nodded, and began to walk out from behind the counter. “What are you here to see him about? He just likes a bit of a heads up when I get him from his workshop,” he asked, knowing it took a lot for Bucky to come out, especially when he thought Teddy could handle it. 

“We’re here about the Harvest Festival,” Maria began to explain, “we wanted to invite the Hydrangea to participate as you are the newest addition to the area.”

“Oh I love that festival. Go every year!” he smiled and went to the back to tell his boss. 

Soon enough Bucky was coming out from behind the back, thankful that long sleeves had become seasonally appropriate once more. “Hey, I’m James Barnes, owner. Teddy said you wanted to talk to me about the upcoming festival. What can I do for you?”

“Well for the last several years the Brooklyn Chamber of Commerce has been putting on a Harvest Festival at the start of the fall to give everyone in the area an idea of what businesses are in the area, which seems to increase revenues during the holiday season,” Coulson began to explain and Maria handed Bucky a folder that had far too many charts for Bucky’s liking. 

“We also think that with the uniqueness of your shop you could host a few workshops that people could attend for a small fee,” Maria added. 

“That all sounds good,” Bucky began, wondering if he really had it in him to do three days of intense socializing, but knew that at the end of it all it was not just good for the shop but good for the block. 

“And if you are available we would like for you to host and be a judge in the pumpkin carving contest. It’s always a big hit, and one of the judges that helped out last year is no longer managing one of the stores around here.”

“A pumpkin carving contest?” he asked the man with a wry smirk. 

“It’s more than just kids. We have three groups,” Maria explained. “A group for children, teenagers, and then adults. People get rather into it.”

“Sure, you can count me in. I’m guessing you’ll want proposals for the workshops and whatnot?” he asked, to which they explained to him the process. 

“We’ll get you all the information you’ll need in the weeks to come and a final schedule the week off,” Maria informed him, and headed out with Phil to tackle the next. 

*** 

The week of the festival came and when Bucky loaded up his email on Sunday morning he took a look at the final schedule. He saw this workshops were in and according to Coulson, people were very interested. Looking at the night activities he saw himself as a judge for the pumpkin contest but the name next to him made him gape. Steve Rogers was his partner for the pumpkin carving contest. 

*** 

Across the street Natasha was checking her email and found herself very pleased that the suggestion she had made to Maria Hill had been worked in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned for this part and the next chapter to be a whole one, but I've been preparing for trial for the last two weeks, and while we came to a settlement today, I wanted to give you all something before my brain officially turned off for recovery mode. I'm hoping to update a few more times before preparation for the bar comes around but no guarantees. I won't abandon this fic but during bar prep the updates might trickle out though I have the rest of it outlined.


	10. You Reap What You Sow

When Steve was first approached to partake in the Harvest Festival years ago he asked a question on most people’s minds – how on earth would a tattoo parlour take place in a family friendly street fair? 

Phil Coulson had been the one talking to him at the time and chuckled. “We know it is certainly an unusual request but we didn’t want to discount anyone just because their business is atypical. We can include you and your staff as general volunteers, have you work on artistic and creative booths, or even something as simple as face painting if you like. But your store is as much as staple as anyone else’s and we wanted to at least extend an invitation.”

Steve was unable to turn down that argument and the thoughtfulness behind the invite, and happily accepted. Since then, him and his staff has been running various booths, including an airbrush tattoo station he invested in after two years helping out. 

This year, however, Steve wasn’t anticipating the harvest festival like he usually did, and that was mainly due to the pumpkin carving contest. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do it with James, it was that he didn’t want to have an entire weekend to feel as if he needed to apologize again after he hadn’t spoken a word to the man in weeks. He knew if he asked someone else at the store to take over they wouldn’t trade with him. 

It was his fault anyway. If he hadn’t been an ass he’d be enjoying the festival instead of stressing out. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It was only three, two-hour shifts. He could get through that right?

*** 

Through some connections, Bucky was able to get the pumpkins cheaper than usual, and the Chamber of Commerce was thankful. This however, meant that 100 pumpkins were currently filling his back work room. 

Staring at the makeshift pumpkin patch, Bucky sighed, and began to move them around to create a walkway when Teddy came in. 

“Boss? I was wondering if I could still take tomorrow night off after I help you move these. Billy said he was free too, and it’s his first year here...” he began but trailed off as Bucky stood up, stretched, and smirked. 

“Finally asking him out?” he laughed. 

Teddy would not admit that he turned red. “No! I mean, he’s just a friend and I don’t know what he’s into, you know? Yes, I know I’ve mentioned that I think he’s cute, but I don’t think he thinks of me like that,” he sighed.

“How many times do I have to tell you that no boy looks at another boy like that if he just wants to be friends.”

“He had a girlfriend last summer though,” Teddy countered. 

“Do I have to lecture you on the meaning of the word bisexual?”

“No Bucky. I know perfectly well what it means.”

“Good, so stop being shy and ask him out on a proper date. If not, I will find a reason to keep you here late on weeknights since you have no love life of your own.”

With that threat Teddy gave him a salute and turned to walk out, but turned back around. 

“Bucky?”

“Yes Teddy?” 

“I noticed on the schedule you’re paired with Steve...are you going to be okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, not looking his employee in the eye but rather taking a renewed interest in the squash before him. 

“Because I used to see you two talk all the time, and then from one day to the next it was as if you two didn’t know each other. I tried to keep myself out of it but I’m perceptive. If you need me to deliver him an arrangement of rather potent pollinators, I’ll do it.”

“While your offer for assault on my behalf are amusing, I’m fine. Steve and I... look nothing happened. We just got busy.”

“Not according to Natasha,” Teddy countered. 

At that remark Bucky looked up, exasperated. “Did you go to her or did she come to you?”

“It was a mutual thing?” Teddy tried to answer. “Look, she noticed that I was always the one out and about and we got to talking. I know I’m young but I ain’t that young,” he began to reply when Bucky cut him off. 

“Teddy, you’re in college and that to me means you are a child. As for Natasha, she needs to learn not to go into others people’s business. I know you don’t know the full story but I know you know that I lost my arm in service. Needless to say I like my routine and I like not being around a lot of people, which is why I began to give you more responsibility,” he added, knowing it was only a half truth. 

“But he looked at you like you say Billy looks at me,” Teddy asserted, holding his around. 

“You used the past tense there kid,” he pointed out. 

“So what? It’s only because he doesn’t leave the store either according to Natasha.”

“Well his mother died...” Bucky said, in way of explanation, but Teddy didn’t back off. 

“And the worst thing you can do is mourn alone. I know something happened because I’m not dumb. Stop being stubborn.” With that he walked out of the work room, leaving Bucky to himself. 

The older man sighed, and leaned against what he thought was his table, only to be pinched by the stem of a rogue winter squash. Maybe Teddy was right, but he wouldn’t let him know that. Perhaps he’d just resolve to keep an open mind and see how the weekend went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. I wanted to update sooner and make it longer but two days after graduation I started bar prep classes and I've been swamped. Thus, I settled for a short update so you would know I was alive as was the story


	11. The Harvest Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of the Harvest Festival.

As much as the military caused Bucky to lose an arm and gave him a few other side effects, he was thankful that he still retained the ability to wake up at ungodly hours without a problem. This was handy because he currently had to carry more than his share of pumpkins to the tent that had been set up for their station.

As the tents were being propped up last night, Bucky looked out his window, but didn’t go outside. Steve was there, directing traffic and being his usual helpful self, and Bucky didn’t want to interact with him more than was necessary. He told himself it wasn’t active avoidance, but he also lied to himself a lot.

Wandering out at dawn, Bucky walked down the street until he found the tent label “pumpkin carving” and took it in, figuring out the best way to organize the tent while he still had an empty street. Sipping his coffee as he surveyed the layout, he was unaware of the other person looking out to the street.

Steve had gotten up early to do some preliminary setup and get a proper breakfast, when he noticed that James was already out and about. Stepping back inside, he moved to the window to look between the shades so he would know when the coast was clear. He hadn’t seen James in a long time – not that he saw much of anyone that didn’t come into his shop or go to Clint’s – but the man looked tired, and not just because it was sunrise.

Looking around, Bucky felt as if someone was watching him, but after a cursory glance, he shrugged, chalking it up to paranoia, and headed back towards the store.

***

The rest of the morning went pretty quickly once Bucky had his momentum going. He would load about twenty of the pumpkins into the flower cart, ride them to the tent, sort them in piles by size, and road back to repeat the process all over again until the backroom was clear of the encroaching squash.

Coulson was the first person to greet him that morning, which surprised Bucky who assumed that Steve would be there early enough to man the tent, but the other man didn’t show up until there was already a line of people wanting to sign up for the contest and by that time they really couldn’t talk to each other as Steve was alternating shifts between the airbrush station and their tent. Bucky tried not to think that it was deliberate on Steve’s part, but was unable to let his mind wander there. It was two o’clock when Bucky finally had to say something to Steve that was beyond “pass me a pen” or another clerical query.

“I have a workshop now at my store I have to get to but I’ll be back at 4:00 PM when it’s over. Would you like me to bring you back a tea or coffee on my way back?” he asked, figuring it was the polite thing to do as he himself was going to need a pick me up at that time.

Hearing the question it took Steve a few seconds to realize that Bucky was talking to him and he blinked up in surprise.

“Oh sure, that would be great. Coffee, please,” he smiled, realizing that he was feeling warm just from the casual conversation. “What’s the workshop on?” he asked, hoping to keep the conversation going.

“Wreaths,” Bucky replied, trying to not let himself fall into an easy conversation, which is what got him into this mess the first time. When they met Steve hadn’t been interested in being friends, and Bucky pushed and then got hurt, so this time around he wasn’t going to do more than was necessary. He wasn’t going to strike up conversation about the new tattoo on Steve’s forearm or what had been going on at the store. He was going to keep it simple.

With the curt answer and a nod, Bucky left the tent and walked towards his store, not looking back. If he had he would have seen Steve standing there with his mouth slightly ajar wondering what else he could do next time to keep the conversation going.

Seeing Steve looking James’ back like a lost puppy, Sam wandered over and took the empty seat next to Steve. “Is he still not talking to you?” he asked, trying to not point out that Steve had also hidden himself away from the man and not talked to him.

“No he is,” Steve replied, looking down at his hands. “It’s just too polite. He’s only talking about what we’re doing at the booth and whenever I try and press for more I get one word answers. It’s unnerving. I want him to be resentful or mad or any emotion really, but he’s just being nice...” he swallowed, knowing he brought it on himself.

“Can you blame him?” Sam asked. “I mean the last time he tried anything other than just being another shop owner you implied that he got you drunk to take advantage of you.”

“I know. And I know it was a stupid thing to say. I mean I kissed him. I was sobering up by that point, I was just so angry...” he trailed off.

“Well he doesn’t owe you anything Steve, but maybe this weekend will be the start of casual conversations on the street again.”

“Maybe...”

“You know that means you have to actually leave the parlour to have those kinds of conversations right?”

At that comment, Steve punched Sam lightly on the arm and began to setup the carving stations for the first contest tonight.

***

The workshop went better than expected and actually left Bucky with a handful of Thanksgiving centerpiece orders and requests for additional workshops throughout the year.

Having stopped by at the coffee booth before going back to pumpkin station, Bucky placed two cups of coffee on the table before sitting down, passing the one on the right to Steve.

“This is yours,” he stated plainly, and sipped his drink.

Taking the proffered paper cup, Steve smiled and took a sip, and hummed around the taste.

“Hey, you remembered how I take it,” he said as thanks, which caused Bucky to pause.

“It’s the same way one of my unit mates took it, so it wasn’t hard to remember,” he gave as an excuse, hoping that was enough of an explanation.

“Still thanks,” he replied, with a smile, looking at James’ profile.

“Really isn’t that big of a deal,” he mumbled, and got up to look at the carving stations, and decided it was time to put the pumpkins on the tables.

Frowning, Steve got up to help him, hoping for just a bit more conversation or even emotion.

Carrying two pumpkins at time, Bucky placed them on the tables and was about to tell Steve that he didn’t need to help when he remembered that Steve would get upset if he questioned his ability to do anything physical and decided to leave it alone.

A few more minutes of silence passed and Steve decided to try again.

“How was your workshop?” he queried, figuring it was innocuous enough

“It was fine. Well attended.”

“That’s good. I’m glad a lot of people showed up,” he replied, and was once again met with a wall of silence.

Having set up as much as they could before the six o’clock adult contest, Bucky took a seat and turned to look to Steve.

“You don’t have to be at the booth until the carving starts so you can go and get food or check on your people,” he noted, phrasing it in a way that Steve got the message that he had no option in this but to go away for the next hour or so.

***

Steve was taking a break. By break he meant that Natasha had forced him to sit down at eat a pastry. By eat, Steve was doing nothing more than poking at the crust and picking off flakes.

“Sam told me he’s being too polite. What did you expect? He isn’t going to yell at you or be nasty. He already has people weary so he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that,” she noted as she herself ate a proper snack. 

“What do you mean weary?” he asked in a tone that suggested he would punch anyone who thought Bucky was anything different than a sweet man. 

“It’s nothing awful. Just he doesn’t look like people around here, especially with his arm. People talk. People around here don’t like wars or battles so they make judgements. He knows that, and he isn’t going to ruin his business by being angry at the adorable tattoo artist,” she explained. 

Steve frowned. Firstly, he was not adorable. Secondly, he hated the way people in the area thought of veterans. Thirdly, he could do with being screamed at. 

Huffing, he laid his head on the table and stared at the pastry. It was finally hitting him how badly he had messed up. 

***

Bucky was able to take his own break once sign ups closed at four, and decided to meander around the festival finally. Seeing some familiar faces he talked to Tony, who was happy to see the flower cart and bike on display, and passed by Thor’s booth, which had a fall cider on tap for of age patrons. Taking the proffered beer, Bucky sat with Jane for a little bit and talked about the orchard they were working with. Thor teased them a bit for talking about plants so much, but James was interested in what else the orchard did, and by the end of it Jane was promising to introduce him to the owner and make another local connection for his store. 

As he was getting up to leave to get back to his booth, Thor called out. “Jane! Did you not tell him about tonight?!” 

“No, sorry! James, we’re having a small after party at Asgard tonight. Just the people involved in running the festival. Clint and Kate are bringing out new recipes and Thor made some mead,” she smiled. 

Running a hand through his hair, and in the process messing up his bun, James hesitated. “I’ll see how I feel after the day is done. Honestly, I got up early and might want to get some rest,” he explained, knowing it was partially an excuse. 

“Well we hope to see you there. Maybe you can keep an eye on Teddy and his friend. College boys do have the tendency to drink when no one's looking,” she pointed out. 

“Yes they do, but as someone who was in the military at his age, sometimes you need it,” he chuckled, and with a salute, walked off. 

***  
The adults competition was uneventful as far as competitions go. Apparently the same people came back every year and their designs got more and more complicated. People gathered around to watch people work, amazed at the patterns they chose and the tools they brought. Bucky tried his best to stay out of Steve’s way as they navigated the event and once the pumpkins were done they were brought for judging. 

James and Steve were judges along with two guests that were picked for a different round each night, depending on what group was participating. So with the two of them tonight were Bruce and Wanda, a yoga instructor and makeup artist respectively. 

Deliberation went fairly quickly and soon the awards were given out. As the sun had already set, most people were quick to clear out, leaving James and Steve with the clean up. 

As he began to wipe the guts from the table tops and into a bag (he’d be sorting out the seeds later) he spotted Steve folding up the chairs to be stored for the night. 

“I’ve got this if you want to go to Asgard for the party,” he offered as he slid another pile of pumpkin into a bag, not to subtling using this line of inquiry to find out if Steve was going.

“Well this cleanup will be faster with two people. Are you not going?” he asked, looking up and over at James who was not looking his way. 

“Tired to be honest. I wanted to keep talking to Jane, but nothing I can’t do another time.”

“You should come. It’s a good time, good food, and good drinks,” he elaborated, trying to entice the other man. 

“Not really in the mood for drinking,” he mumbled, and Steve flinched at the remark. Right, he’d accused James of liquoring him up and taking advantage of him, like the brilliant person he was. 

“Well I’m sure everyone would like to see you regardless, and even Teddy is going with his date,” he added. 

“Ah so he finally got around to that,” he laughed. “Yeah, I’ll stop in for a bit. Just need to change and whatnot.” Finishing the last of the cleaning, Bucky went inside his store, without another word to Steve, and got ready to head to the bar. 

***  
It was about an hour later that James showed up at the bar, having felt the need to shower before going over. 

When he walked in it was clear that Jane has been honest when she said it wouldn’t be too big. Only about 30 people were present, all owners and workers from their neighborhood. Behind the bar were Jane and Thor chatting with their friends, and he even spied Teddy sitting on a stool with Billy standing between his legs, a little too close to be friendly. 

With a wave to his employee, James walked over to the bar and took a seat. “I can’t have a lot but I hear it would be a crime to not try your mead,” he called out, when Thor turned and looked at him. 

“Yes! It would be a shame my friend. Here, half a glass, just a taste,” he winked, and poured a fresh cup.

As he resumed his conversation with Jane, Steve wandered over to the bar to get a refill. “Glad to see you made it,” he smiled, not commenting on the drink in his hand. “Clint’s food is over on the other side in case you didn’t know. You might want to hurry before it’s all gone,” he added. 

Doing his best to keep an even face, James just smiled. “Thanks, I’ll do that now before I have to order pizza later,” and excused himself. 

Walking towards the buffet, Bucky could tell that Steve was walking behind him. “Did you need something?” he asked as he bent down to grab a plate. 

“Just wanted to know of what you thought of today?” 

“It was interesting. Didn’t know how serious some people take these things,” he chuckled genuinely. “Looking forward to the children’s one though. I bet they go for classic.”

“They do. Easier for little hands not to be cut.”

“Makes sense. A lot of the setup is done for tomorrow I guess I’ll see you out there when sign ups start?”

“Yeah but you’re sticking around here right?”

Looking around Bucky surveyed the crowd and shrugged. “Only for a little while. Want to get some sleep,” he lied, because sleep and him were clearly in a fight.

“Well do you want to come sit with us for now? Nat’s been going over her favorite poor life choice tattoos that the shop has been asked for.”

Biting his lip, James looked down at Steve a little stiffly. “I think it would be better if I went back to chat with Jane. She was telling me about Darcy, the girl with the orchard, and we were talking flowers,” he used as a poor excuse. 

Sensing the reasoning behind his refusal Steve shook his head. “I don’t have to be there if you want to just talk with Tasha. I know that’s what you’re thinking really.”

“Steve, this is your neighborhood, your friends, your life. I don’t expect you to make room for someone you don’t know.”

That stung. Steve knew James. He knew him before he had fucked up. 

“James..."

“Enjoy your night Rogers. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he interjected, cutting the blonde off before he could say anything more. 

Walking away he left Steve standing there looking dumbstruck. 

When Steve eventually made it back to his table, Sam passed him another beer silently, and patted his back knowingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive I swear. So I spent the entire summer studying for the bar, took the bar, moved my partner up to where I live, been job hunting (no luck yet), been fighting writers block, and then got my bar results (have to do it again). So after some crying, anxiety, and general panic, I figured the only way to get this fic done is to just stare at my screen until words appear, so hopefully that'll get this story moving again.


	12. Smashing Pumpkins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Steve started to get somewhere, the competition gets interrupted...

The alarm blared as Bucky woke up in the dark - the covers were up over his head and he didn’t want to throw them back. Two more days of the festival, and that meant two more days of dealing directly with Steve Rogers. 

He knew last night was a low blow. He implied that he was a stranger to Steve but it was self-preservation. They hadn’t really communicated since the incident and he didn’t want to give Steve the idea that friendship was still an option. 

Lucky for him he only had to deal with Steve at night today. Sign ups would end at noon today for the remaining events and he had a workshop that ended when Steve started his. That left him with only four hours of awkward small talk and indirect eye contact.

Walking downstairs to the shop, after he dressed in a long sleeved flannel and jeans, he found Teddy already there with two coffees and some pastries, beaming. 

“To what do I owe this treat?” he asked, plucking the larger coffee, knowing it was his.

“We are celebrating the fact that you won’t be assigning me weeknights. Billy agreed to a date,” he grinned, rocking on his heels. 

“Congrats kid, I told you so,” Bucky smirked, walking to sit down behind the counter so they could eat. 

“You were right. He said he’d been too nervous to do anything because he thought I was out of his league, whatever that means. So we agreed to meet up on Sunday during the last day of the street fair, and when I walked him home last night he let me kiss him,” he sighed, clearly reliving the moment in his head. 

“First kisses are usually the best ones,” he supplied fondly, but his mind wandered to his last first kiss, and of course Steve popped up, making the older man frown. “Well let’s eat and get the cart out. Just promise you’ll keep your head out of the clouds while you peddle the flower cart. Don’t need you crashing,” he teased. 

“Fine, fine, but seriously thank you Bucky. You’re a great boss.” Getting up, he walked around the counter, and slowly went in for a hug, that Bucky reciprocated. 

“Nothing to thank me for. Young love is a beautiful thing,” he murmured, and pulled back to start getting ready for the day, in an effort to distract himself from his own advice.

***

It was five when Bucky got back to his table from the workshop and a forced snack fed to him by Teddy, Billy in tow.

“We brought some for Steve too so make sure to give it to him when he gets here. Natasha tells me he also forgets to eat,” Teddy smirked, and walked off once he was satisfied that Bucky was eating his food.

Bucky didn’t have time to move Steve’s food when the blonde came around and sat down next to him. 

“Here, Teddy brought this for you. Seems Natasha has let him know of your horrible eating habits,” he murmured, trying to feign disinterest. 

“I swear she is on a mission to make everyone around here think that I can’t take care of myself,” he sighed, taking the food regardless. 

Bucky for his part didn’t comment. Partly because it would be the pot calling the kettle black, but mainly because it would mean he had an opinion on Steve’s life, which he firmly did not. 

“We need to set the pumpkins on their stations before the teen competition starts, and place the carving tools. I’ll start the pumpkins while you eat, and you can come around and do the rest after,” Bucky suggested, trying not to look at the way Steve was clearly enjoying his meal. 

“It isn’t for another hour, there isn’t a rush,” Steve pointed out, looked at James with a smile. “Did you get to finish talking with Jane last night?” he followed up casually, leaning back in his chair. 

“No. I went home to sleep. Woke up earlier than usual yesterday for set up,” he replied, curtly, and got up to survey the pumpkins. “I’m going to place them now in case some bruised overnight. Gourds are temperamental,” he explained, instead of simply walking off.

As James walked away, Steve felt hopeless. He knew it was an excuse but at least for his part he was trying. But he couldn’t hold it against James . He also couldn’t help but admire the muscles that appeared as James hauled pumpkins, even if they weren’t as defined with his fall clothing on. 

Eating his food quickly, he got up to begin placing the tools, seeing the teenagers starting to mill about, some clearly eager for the event to begin, and other staring at the two men setting up, whispering to each other. Steve wondered who it was about, more used to being talked about than others around the area with the way he looked and his reputation from growing up around the neighborhood. 

***

The sun was setting as the competition got underway. The teens competition was always an interesting one for Steve. Some of them got really into it, preparing intricate designs that would give the adults a run for their money. Others came just to have a good time. And every year a few came to carve what the chamber of commerce deemed inappropriate designs, forcing Steve to shake his head and confiscate a pumpkin decorated with penises or the design of a far too graphic severed head. 

This year, it seemed, that James caught the first culprits, a duo, shaving into the pumpkins was seemed to be a pinup centerfold. Sternly, he explained the group why they were being disqualified and of course was met with pleas, and scoffs. Steve almost walked over when he heard one of them curse James out, but the man just straightened up and the group was walking out of the tent. 

Taking the pumpkin from the station, Bucky walked behind the judges table and slid it under his chair. 

“There’s at least one every year,” Steve told him as he crouched down to inspect the creation. “I swear the shit teenagers come up with. I knew I was bad but not in this way,” he murmured, to which Bucky laughed. 

“Somehow I doubt that,” he chuckled earnestly. 

“Rude! What impression did I give you that I was a trouble maker?” 

“Umm, right after we met Clint might have let it slip that you spent a night in jail once?”

Steve looked up at him surprised. Mainly because Clint was spreading that story but also because James was having a conversation with him beyond logistics. He even brought up their past meetings. 

“In my defense, the fucker deserved it. This forty-something asshole was harassing a group of teenage girls. They couldn't have been more than thirteen, fourteen at most." The muscles jumped angrily in his jaw at the memory. "He didn't leave them alone when I asked and we fought. I ended it. With a punch that sent him into a cab. While it could be seen as unfortunate that the scumbag survived, it made the assault charge easier to drop,” he grinned. 

“See, trouble maker,” was all Bucky could get out, for fear that his attraction to bad boys would actually come through with more words. 

Steve was about to retort when he heard a boom. Then another. Then another. 

Looking around, Steve saw that the pile of spare pumpkins were exploding, spraying gourd guts everywhere, and causing contestants and onlookers alike to scream. Steve was about to run and put out the rest of the pumpkins, but glancing to the side, saw James collapsing in on himself, cradling his head, his face pale with fear. 

Shit. 

Without another thought, he got himself under James’ shoulder, attempting to get him inside his shop, away from prying eyes. He didn’t stop until he was opening the door to the flower shop and putting the larger man on the floor and drawing the blinds.

“You’re alright,” he breathed, cupping James’ face to take the hair out of his eyes, and felt the sweat that was forming on his brow. There wasn’t a response. The florist that had just been smiling at him was staring off into the distance, seeing something that Steve clearly could not, and covering his ears.

Shuffling back a bit to give him space, Steve began to repeat to James where they were, what was going on, and that he was safe most importantly. He kept a hand out the other man’s knee to ground him in case he needed it but tried to not crowd him in case he was triggered by too much contact. 

Outside he could hear Coulson on a megaphone calming the crowd, and the sound of a fire extinguisher being used. Reaching up to hit the lights, Steve did his best to remember what he’d read on the subject of PTSD before. Getting up, he kept reminding James of all the things he’d said before, while looking for some water and maybe a blanket. 

Hearing the door open, Steve turned to see Natasha and Teddy burst in, but as soon as they caught sight of the James’ crumpled form, they went silent. 

Teddy for his part ran upstairs and came back with the blanket Steve had been unable to find, along with a small portable stereo. 

“He told me what to do in case this happened,” he explained and checking that the CD was inside, began to play what sounded like classical music. Draping the blanket over his shoulders, Teddy sat next to him quietly, only periodically making noise to remind him where he was. 

Steve sat across from them, watching as the younger man did was he was unable to do, and took in James. The man who had be standing next to him moments before, laughing and teasing him, was now frozen on the ground, falling apart, and there was nothing Steve could do. 

Well, not exactly. 

Getting up, he told Teddy he was going to see what was going on, and walked outside to find Coulson.

In the tent stood Maria Hill, explaining to everyone that the competition would resume in the morning, and off to the side was Phil with Natasha, looking at three teenagers, two of which had been the pair kicked out of the competition earlier that evening. 

Passing the debris, Steve saw amidst the pumpkin guts the firecrackers placed inside, and knew from sight they weren’t the kind sold at the store. Picking up a few, he pocketed them and continued towards Phil.

As Steve ambled over, he listened to Coulson reprimand them, explaining that their parents were on their way, and that they’d be reported to the police. 

Pulling Phil aside, he gave me a quick update on Bucky, and as he did, one of the boy’s fathers arrived, looking hassled. 

“Why have I been called here? I had tickets to the beer tasting at the brewery,” he stated, as if that took precedent over parenting. 

As Phil explained the situation, the father rolled his eyes, and held a hand out to stop him midway. 

“Wait, you pulled me over here because these boys just pulled a harmless Halloween prank?” the man asked annoyed. 

“Harmless!” Steve cut in. “They didn’t blow up a pumpkin, they placed M-80s inside at least a dozen pumpkins,” he roared, pulling out the cartridges from his pocket. “These are the kinds that blow off fingers! They’re illega inside the city, and it sent someone into a PTSD flashback,” he shouted, unable to control himself. 

“I’m sure they didn’t mean to do that. You know that boys will be boys,” the dad began, but was unable to finish his thought because Steve Rogers had just punched him in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! This fic is not abandoned! Just life and writer's block are a bitch!


End file.
